Feast Bakery and Cafe

When I walked into Feast on the corner of Henderson and Hillside I was incredibly surprised by the decor and style. I honestly thought for just a moment that I was in a different city. The decor was minimalist, but expertly executed, with a very trendy but not pretentious feel that reminded me more of a bistro in Chicago or San Francisco than a corner bakery/cafe in a foot traffic unfriendly corner of Bloomington.

The first thing you are greeted with once the general feel of this corner cafe hits you is the bakery case. Now fair warning about the bakery case. My first adventure with Feast was on a Friday evening, and my second was the next evening. The case was considerably more empty Saturday evening than Friday. Friday it was overflowing with creme brulee bars, and pies, and hand pies of both the meat and vegetarian variety. The following day there were a few of each type of hand pie left, the dessert pies were completely missing, and the majority of the bars were gone. Now none of these items were the sort of baked good that I would expect to be baked every single day. There weren't doughnuts or bagels, or other items prone to going stale easily. My word of warning is to go early in the weekend, or to call ahead and ask how full the feast case is, you may arrive with limited options, but let me assure you they will all be quality options.

The first night at Feast I had one of their tamales ($7.50 for the plate, $4.50 ala cart), which are known as a specialty of the establishment. My tamale was filled with a green chile and chicken mixture and was out of this world. I spent several of my formative gastronomical years in Austin Texas, and every Christmas the tamales came out. It was a tradition, and church parties, house parties, everywhere there were tamales and I fell in love with them. Making them is a labor of love, and so while I have endeavored to do so a few times on my own, much like ravioli I can do it at most once or twice a year. So I am always on the lookout for a quality tamale in Bloomington, and this was unquestionably the best example I have found thus far. The dough was delicate, and not dried out. It was fresh, beautifully wrapped, and came with a side of thick corn chips, salsa, and the best guacamole I've ever had. The guacamole had several dollops of a seasoned sour cream mixture, in a beautiful presentation and it made the entire experience.

I also got to try a bit of my partner's sandwich, and this is where we discovered the true expanse of Feast's offerings. The sandwich was a tempeh reuben ($9.50), and it was outstanding. The balance of flavors was excellent, and while tempeh in no way replaces all of the culinary dynamics of corned beef, it was a beautifully balanced sandwich, and I could easily have seen myself having sated myself completely on this vegan option.

Finally we tried two of their desserts, the first was a peanut butter chocolate pie (dessert prices and offerings vary), that I really have no words for. Now it is important to know that I detest most peanut butter desserts. Not because I do not like peanut butter, or think that it is a problematic dessert ingredient, but because Jif, and Peter Pan, and Reeses have ruined the American palette when it comes to peanut butter. Peanut butter should taste like peanuts. That is the beginning and end of that story, and too often desserts feature peanut butter that tastes like confectioner's sugar, with some other unidentifiable ingredient that must be adding some of that very strange texture. This pie had a layer of peanut butter confectionery that tastes not just of peanuts, but of the very earth they came from. It was rich, and thick, and heady, while not being overwhelming, and truly tasted of it's ingredients.

The second dessert I tried was tiramisu. Now here is where you as the reader will discover that I am a heartless reviewer, I have already betrayed that the first dessert I tried was something I expected not to like, the second dessert is no different. Tiramisu is a delicate, delightful balance of sweet, and rich, light, and elegant. It is a dance of compatible, but disparate flavors, and depends on a perfect cream texture for the cheese portion, and a ladyfinger/cake portion that is soaked in espresso just enough to inbue moisture and flavor, but not enough to turn the receiving confection into mush. In short, one little messup can ruin it and almost no one gets it right. The tiramisu at Feast was perfect. I have not had the privilege of going to Italy yet, a point of great sadness for me. My partner Solomon has though, and we split this little piece of heaven and he could not rave about it enough having never found any Tiramisu to satisfy him at all after the one he had in Italy. I could go on, but I think that pretty much says it all.

You may have noticed that unlike my usual format I skipped service in my review. That is because I really just couldn't put off talking about the food. Feast is a hybrid cafe, restaurant style establishment. You order at the counter, and they bring you your food. So service is minimal, but incredibly pleasant, and prompt. This style of restaurant doesn't lend itself to quite the detailed review that a full service establishment does, but I can say I had absolutely no complaints.

Ambiance: 5 of 5
Service: 4.5 of 5
Food Quality: 5 of 5
Flavor Quality: 5 of 5
Cost/Value 5 of 5

What Makes Food Amazing

So a few weeks ago I asked everyone both on this blog and on facebook the following questions:

1 Do you Love Food?

2 What is your strongest food memory?

I of course expounded on this in much more detail, as you can see here. I had my suspicions on what the answers would look like, and I was not terribly surprised. Though what I found fascinating is that the answers typified my friends' personalities more perfectly than I thought any single inquiry could.

Growing up the question of "Why does food made by grandma always taste better than food made my everyone else?" was asked. Invariably the response was that it was her experience, or the fact that no one cooks the way people used to cook, or that it was some secret hidden away in family recipes that no one else could possibly have. None of these responses ever really stuck. Anyone who has ever made a "family recipe" of anything knows that they are special, but are generally not remarkable in any sort of technical food chemistry way. Experience can be had in many ways from many places, but Grandma always put something greater than that into her food.

There is an answer that was also given that on the surface seemed dismissive in an affectionate sort of way. "Because she makes her food with love." When I was little I always chuckled at that response, because it couldn't be the real reason. For a long time though I have begun to realize how wrong I am about that. Every person who responded to my questions didn't really respond with an answer about food. They responded with a story where food was the medium through which they expressed love of family and friends. The stories I read included simple meals of 3 minute eggs with toast and Jam, white rice and boiled vegetables with chicken, and of simple cookies made with loved ones. The three minute eggs and Jam were the first breakfast made for a new boyfriend, and the chicken and rice was a healthy meal proudly made by a caring father. These are not meals that are filled with any special physical chemistry, or gastonomical innovation. They are the simplest meals, made to share with loved ones.

This brings us back to Grandma. Indeed the food made my our parents and grandparents was more wonderful because it was made with love. When you went over to a friend's house and stayed over for dinner the food was inevitably made for your friend. When you became the second son or daughter at your friend's house, food was suddenly made with love for you as well. The food then became warmer, more robust, more welcoming.

The sense most closely tied to memory is our sense of smell, and nothing is so closely tied to smell as taste. So it is through these gateways of sensation and experience that one of the most quintessential manifestations of love is expressed and received, food.

In my opinion this is both why comfort foods are so comforting and why when we are not waxing nostalgic the true foodies of the world seek out new and "exciting" foods. When we are sharing a meal with a new person, or a new date we want something unique to mark that memory by. We want the unique tartness of ume boshi to evoke memories of the pretty boy or girl we are nervously chattering with in hopes that a good impression is being made. We want our sons and daughters to remember our particular macaroni and cheese because no other one is made with that particular muenster cheese. We strive ever forward, not necessarily for the best food in the world, because taste is as much in the tongue of the taster as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but for the food with the most love and passion, and desire to evoke joy in it's consumer.

Of all the people who answered my inquiry there was one person who claimed to not really care about food. He was passionate about beverages, and espoused the social lubricating nature of drinks, both alcoholic and non alcoholic, but food he was not inspired by in it's own right. He also had the one and only memory of food from his childhood that was shared with me of a negative nature. It was a story that began with tacos moved into squabbling parents and ended with an upended table and my friend as a 9 year old boy huddling in the barn with his sister. This particular friend I have the opportunity to cook for regularly, and I care for him dearly. I have been pushing as long as I have known him to try and find the dish he will ask for, the food that will ignite that strong memory in him and evoke that expression of love through food. As with all my friends I seek to embrace and nurture them with my cooking, and try as I might I have never been able to find that food for him. I will continue my search, but when I read his responses to my questions I realized when I read that story that perhaps he was correct and I would never find that food, but I'll still keep trying.

I may not be moving towards any particular point, and I don't think I am supporting any particular thesis. I feel that at it's heart I just wanted to understand the nature of our connection to food a little bit more. I want to understand why I am so drawn to strange quirky holes in the wall, and find high class cooking so rarely satisfying. I think I have discovered a bit of that. The pursuit of excellence in food must be in the spirit of wanting to excel so we can share the very best with those we love. The desire to find new and exciting experiences must come with the knowledge that as with all experiences they are richer when shared, and will enrich you more if shared.

I know I did not really come to a conclusion, and that all structured writers will hate me for that, so as a small gesture of completion I would like to return the favor so many of my friends did for me and share some of my fondest food memories.

1 When I was a child my mother baked cookies with me every Christmas no matter how young I was, and how little I could actually help. We would make cookie cutter cookies and I would get to decorate them. It was a way to give me a sense of true accomplishment, and while I know that the cookies I made at 4 and 5 were unquestionably hideous, but I was left with the feeling that I was making something, and making the food that everyone would consume and enjoy for the holidays.

2 While my parents taught me how to navigate a kitchen I truly learned to cook with my friend Mike. I have had many friends tell me that I never make bad food, and I have to tell them that the only reason that I don't completely fail now, is the collection of failures I waded through to get to my current skill with food. My most epic failure was based on an interesting jambalaya recipe we saw on food network that included mustard greens. We didn't have an appreciation for the power of this ingredient, and after adding an entire bunch of mustard greens and an entire fresh habanero including seeds to the delightful pot of rice we were rewarded with a practically inedible dinner. While some people would consider this a bad memory it is actually one of my fondest. It reminds me that the path to excellence is paved with a willingness to fail and learn from your failures, and to be honest it was kind of hilarious. Mike's mother was there for dinner and she has a very timid palette when it comes to spice. We tried adding sugar and having glasses of milk to temper the ridiculous heat in the dish, but it was all to no avail. I do not remember what we finally made for dinner, but it was not nearly as memorable as that epic pot of inedible rice.

Finally is the food memory that I most strongly connect with where my life is today. I dated my current husband James for 3 months when he was 18 and I was 23 (I know I know, whatever). After 3 months he hit "oh god I'm not ready to settle down" mode and so we became friends instead of boyfriends. He shortly after fell head over heels for this southern boy he met at a Renaissance re-enactment event in Mississippi named Leo. My husband and this sweet southern bell of a boy began a long distance relationship built on the passions of being young. However it became quickly apparent that James and I were in no way over each other even though he was madly in love with Leo. So along came his prom and Leo came up to Indiana so he could attend high school prom with James. James and I decided that we were going to talk to Leo about attempting polyamory (James dating both Leo and myself openly and with everyone's knowledge). Before that conversation actually happened though prom night happened. I made their prom dinner. I didn't work that day, so I began cooking around 11 am. I started a tomato sauce, with a half pound of paper thin sliced crimini mushrooms, and a pound of fresh sausage from our local butcher. That simmered for the next 4 hours while I made melon soup with tiny strips of prosciutto, and melon panne cotta. Then a made 3 eggs worth of fresh pasta, and a cheese mix of ricotta, mozzarella, and kasseri. The cheese, pasta and sauce became the most extravagant dish of lasagna I've ever made. With fresh basil olive oil made with basil from my friend's garden. I cooked from 11 am till after 5 pm. I've never spent quite that much time on dinner before, and most people would think I was crazy for putting that kind of time into a dinner for a boy I wanted to be with and his current boyfriend. I won't lie at the time I felt a little bit crazy, but I also really wanted him to be happy, and he had been nothing but good to me through all the craziness since I'd met him. So my recovering Catholic martyr tendencies turned out to be useful. Who knew.

The dinner was amazing, James fawned over the prosciutto in the melon soup, Leo was completely confused by it. I still say it's the best lasagna I ever made, and the dessert was delicious, among other things that James continues to mock me about to this day and which I refuse to share with the internet.

The next several months were good, and exciting, and laid the foundation on which all the following poly endeavors James and I would be built. That meal though was the moment for me when I knew I could be polyamourous. I could devote myself, and my emotional connection to someone, and love them unconditionally, even while they were also invested in someone else.

I know it seems like a strange story to tell about food, but the meal itself stands out in my mind. Not just how proud I am of the quality I achieved, but what it taught me about myself, and I what I am fairly certain it taught my now husband about himself.

Food is ritual, the oldest ritual in human experience. It is a ritual that we all too often do not take part in anymore. Sitting down with your loved ones and breaking bread is a simple, almost ignorable act, but strikingly powerful and important. In a world where people do not see the importance of food, and all too often do not know how to make for themselves what we have been crafting as survival and communal experience for generations it is imperative that people occasionally take a moment to remember the significance of accepting life giving food from someone, or the importance of giving that food to another.

A Little Off Topic

So, I am generally fascinated by food. Much more so than almost anyone else I know. I have 3 friends who are kitchen o philes, and they are each so in dramatically different ways from each other and from myself. I have been privileged enough to experience their food, to cook for each of them, and to cook with each of them. I know this is supposed to be a blog about restaurant reviews in Bloomington, but it's also a place to scratch my personal obsession itch, so I'm going to go off topic occasionally.

In this case, I was thinking about all the people I know who do not cook, who aren't fascinated by food. In all honesty it's most of the people I know. It's a state of being I cannot comprehend, and one that doesn't exist anywhere in my family. My background is German on my father's side of the family and Italian on my mother's side of the family. I have multiple relatives with culinary degrees and relatives who spend their entire vacation fishing in the pursuit of a freezer full of their own personally caught fish every year. Food is an anchor for my entire extended family. So I began to wonder about what causes that, if it's learned, if it's innate.

So here is my request to everyone. Please answer the following questions. Either in the comments here, or on facebook where I will be linking this post. I'm eternally curious. I'll be writing something about what I think of everyone's responses in this blog in a couple weeks (maybe sooner).

1) Do you love food? I'm talking about the crazy love of food. I don't necessarily mean making the food. The passion could be eating, or the growing, or maybe just a special torrid love affair with the nuances of desserts. It could be an obsession with new and exciting, or just a complete need to find that perfectly made comfort dish exactly like you had when you were a child. But do you have a love affair of some sort. And please please PLEASE answer this and the next question even if it's a "meh not really" response. If the answer is yes, I wouldn't mind some details about the nature of your particular love affair, if the answer is no then I'm especially interested in question 2.

2) What is your strongest memory of food? I'm curious about childhood, because I suspect that's where most people's strongest memory of food is, but I'm also hoping to be proven wrong, but because it will be interesting.

I hope to hear from people soon, and you'll all hear from me somewhat soon with my thoughts. :)

Thai a Roy D

Thai a Roy D is a small sheek little Thai eatery just off of third street around the corner from Colstone Square. When you walk in the first thing you will notice before even hitting the door are their lunch specials. They have a 4 item lunch menu that are only $6.50. The lunch specials include a salad or soup, the entree and a drink. It is honestly one of the best price to food ratios in downtown Bloomington. The rest of the Thai a Roy D menu is a smorgasboard of Thai options. There are a myriad of curries and stir fries, Thai soups and fried rices.

I have been to Thai a Roy D on a variety of occasions for lunch, but have never been for dinner. First I'd like to talk about the decor, because it is the first thing that is really striking. Mainly the lack of decor. The space is clean and minimalistic. There are two rooms, and a great deal of fairly warm natural wood. The tables all have table cloths and glass over them for easy cleaning. The thing about this restaurant is that it doesn't feel Thai. In fact it doesn't feel particularly anything. You could be in a Greek place as easily as a Thai restaurant. In most cases I don't like this sort of approach. I like an eatery to have a certain amount of character. In this case though it really works. While there isn't anything overtly Asian or Thai about the restaurant there is a certain Asian minimalist pleasantness that is present. It's difficult to describe, but I find the location to be very clean and inviting. Partially the natural wood, and old building keep the space from feeling sterile, which makes the minimalist approach work out well.

The service at Thai a Roy D has always been excellent. The same woman has waited my table for the last 3-4 times I've gone to get lunch there, and she's always friendly, prompt and honestly a bit on the funny side. She's always very happy to see everyone who comes in, and is exceptionally enthusiastic about our orders, and bringing us our food, while being very casual and pleasant at the same time. All in all an excellent server. The few times I've had a different server the standards have been no lower, if maybe a little less chipper.

The crux of the experience at any eatery though is the food. On this front there are kind of two different standards I have to apply. The first is for the lunch specials. It's difficult to be terribly picky when you're talking $6.50 for soup or salad, an entree and a drink. I usually get the lunch special when I go, and it's well worth it. The flavors are bold. When you order a 5 (the Bloomington heat scale which I assume my readers are familiar with) you get a 5, and the quantity is incredibly generous for the cost. That is the good, the bad is that there is a certain mass produced element to the lunch specials. Some of the ingredients are obviously frozen vegetables, and the salad is mostly iceberg. The dressing on the salad is amazing, and unique though they apply it a bit liberally for the portion of salad. Really for the lunch specials you are paying for really high quality Asian fast food, and you get that and far more. It's not perfect, but it's still an amazing deal for the price, and you get a quality restaurant setting that is much nicer than the price you are paying as a bonus.

The main menu is a bit more expensive than the lunch specials. The average price on the dinner menu which is still available at lunch is around $9. The options are expansive, and the flavors do not disappoint. When you purchase from the main menu the meal does not come with a salad and free drink, but the portion and uniqueness of the entrees are a considerable improvement over the lunch menu. Curries, and stir fries, and delightful fried rices unlike anything you'll ever get in an American Chinese joint. The best part is the price point is considerably more approachable than some of the other Thai spots in town like Esan Thai. $9 is much more reasonable for dinner than $12, and the experience will not disappoint. I've never had anything that felt greasy, or heavy or poorly balanced from Thai a Roy D's menu, and it has kept me returning for more.

In conclusion this is a solid staple for anyone's restaurant portfolio. It's not really fancy enough to be a date spot, and not casual enough to go hang with the boys or girls, but if you just want to take your friends or parents somewhere nice and affordable to enjoy a meal and catch up this is a spot to hit. I definitely recommend it.

Ambiance: 4 of 5
Service: 5 of 5
Food Quality: 4 of 5
Flavor Quality: 5 of 5
Cost/Value 5 of 5

Falafels

Falafels is a small Middle Eastern eatery on Kirkwood. They opened in March of 2003, and have been a downtown staple ever since. The decor is quirky and authentic at the same time, with bright whimsical colors and an exceptionally comfortable atmosphere.

The menu at Falafels is defined by simple rustic food in the $6-12 dollar range. They are probably best known for their pita sandwiches. The meats are either cooked to order, or constantly cooked on a spit, and basted with traditional seasonings. The sandwiches range in price from the $3.45 Halfalafel to the $7.99 lamb kabob sandwich. These offerings are ideal for a quick lunch, and often come with a free side if you catch the right weekly lunch special. There are also several appetizers and entrees appropriate to a full sit down dinner experience.

The ambiance in Falafels is delightfully pleasant and comfortable. The chairs and tables are all solid wood, and everything is brightly colored without clashing. The decorations are simple authentic pieces from Israel, and if you have any questions about the origins of the menu you only have to look at the photograph of the original owner hanging up as you walk into the establishment. It is a black and white photo of him as a child in Israel. You can't get any closer to the roots of Jerusalem in Bloomington that this restaurant (Unless you know a nice Israeli grandmother, and if you can hook me up with some of that schwarma I can make it worth your while).

I went to Falafels on the last day before the Thanksgiving holiday with a friend and they were offering all of their sandwiches at half price in order to clean out their stock of perishables before having to close for the holiday. Due to the exceptionally good pricing we decided to splurge and each ordered a schwarma sandwich, split a plate of grilled asparagus, and had baklava for dessert. It was the most extravagant and affordable lunch I've had in months. First they brought us 2 grilled pitas with herbed olive oil and a slightly spicy red sauce to dip the bread in. This is pure empty carbs, an affront to any diet, and I have never cared. Sadly the pita does not come as delectably charred as it once did. The original owner was also the main cook, now there are several cooks that work the restaurant at different times, and many of them don't push the pita as far on the grill as I would like. That said it's impossible to messup this starter. The sauces are delightful and the fresh pita, even if not crisp around the edges has a special kind of warmth, as they make their bread in house, and let me tell you the quality shows in the final product.

Next the waitress brought us the grilled asparagus. I have never been a big fan of asparagus. My parents tended to boil all vegetables when I was young, and asparagus just never sat well with me boiled and buttered. This asparagus was grilled, and coated in a delicate layer of olive oil, herbs, and goodness. There was no astringent after taste, and the char was just enough to make the food feel well treated, but not so much that it tasted burned. It was fun to eat, and just enough to satisfy two. The only reservation I have about this particular dish is that they obviously did not cut off the bottom of the stalks, so while munching on a spear you would randomly find yourself eating something that tasted a bit like it was cut off the bottom branch of a bush, and you certainly couldn't bite through it. It was easy enough to discard this part of the vegetable, and given the incredibly quality of the edible part of the plant I didn't really mind, but I would have preferred it if the bottoms of the asparagus had been properly trimmed before grilling.

The sandwiches were delightful. I had the chicken schwarma which is cooked on a spit and then carved off as sandwiches are ordered. I do not know what is used to season the meat, but I have a horrid addiction to it. The meat is carefully browned, to develop the height of chicken flavor, while still being succulent. This is no small feat as I believe the use all white meat for this dish. The lettuce is crisp, but thankfully not iceberg. The sandwich also includes hummus, spread along the side of the pita, and it makes the entire experience. I always ask for extra tahini and hot sauce when I order any sandwich there, and they completely re-define the experience. While the toppings are an amazing touch, and I highly recommend experimenting with them on Wednesdays when they come free with the lunch special the hot sauce and tahini on any of the sandwiches make for an amazing food experience.

We finished the meal with a couple small pieces of baklava. This came to us free because they were out of the other desserts we wanted to order. Normally I would think very poorly of a restaurant that had critical menu items out of stock, but they were trying to clear out food before break, so it is to be expected, and they took steps to make sure we were satisfied as customers. The waitress was very accommodating and the fact that she was empowered to offer us the baklava for free says a lot about the management's relationship with their servers, their trust in their employees on the whole, and the sorts of customer service focused choices they encourage. The baklava itself was delightful. It was tender, moist, and flavorful. The perfect bite or two of sweetness to end a meal, though the top could have been slightly more browned. Really though, this part of the meal won Falafels far more service points than food points.

On the whole Falafels is an excellent restaurant, with very reasonable prices. The decor is slightly rough around the edges and feels very real and lived in when so much of Bloomington has begun to feel terribly plastic. I would recommend Falafels as a lunch joint, as a comfortable place to get together with a study group over dinner, as a casual date spot, or as a uniquely Bloomington spot to take your family when they come into town. The menu is approachable and authentic all at once, and you will feel right at home as soon as you are taken to your seat.


Ambiance: 4.5 of 5
Service: 5 of 5
Food Quality: 4 of 5
Flavor Quality: 5 of 5
Cost/Value: 5 of 5

Bloomington Food Culture and Flavor Variations

So I know this is a restaurant review blog. I know that you all come here (in my imagination anyway) to find out about all the great spots to eat in this town. That said, it's my soapbox, and I will occasionally jump out and just drop a rant about food in this town on the unsuspecting internet. This is one of those days. (Fair warning. I'm about to wax VERY nostalgic. If you've been in Bloomington for under a decade this article is probably going to be meaningless to you. Let's just say I've been missing some things lately)

When I was a kid growing up in this town the west side was Bob Evan's, you could watch a movie at the Von Lee, and across the street was the video game cesspool of Bloomington, so alluringly named Space Port. (I was 5, I wasn't allowed inside, it was alluring). My childhood food memories are of being served ice cream upside down at the Penguin and getting to see my father work on trays of baklava in the kitchen underneath the Trojan Horse. The best part about the Ice Cream was the dirty video game room in the back of the Penguin, and the best part about the Baklava was that I wasn't supposed to be down there.

Bloomington had grit back then. Anyone who remembers the White Rabbit, or People's Park before it was rebuilt knows that. Anyone who remembers the wrought iron monstrosity that used to sit in the middle of College Mall ready to receive pennies thrown by children remembers that Bloomington used to have a delightful patina finish.

I have long been aware how much that finish was being buffed away, and for a long time I was very happy about it. Seeing long empty buildings being torn down fills me with elation (I'm looking at you Royal Dog), and watching a high class restaurant succeed here is a marker of how far we have come.

I remember when I was just out of high school my parents went to an up scale Italian restaurant on the west side of town that has since closed. I sadly cannot remember it's name. We went for their anniversary and the experience was delightful. I purchased Frutii di Mare, and it was spectacular. We looked at the prices and and decor and knew the place wouldn't be open in 6 months. No one could charge over $20 for dinner in Bloomington. It just didn't happen. Now, FARM charges much more than that, for much more eccentric dishes, Finch's maintains a very similar price profile with about the same level of expense, and there are other examples of fine dinning in this town that never used to exist. I am ecstatic about this development, and have been since I realized FARM was actually going to succeed.

Something happened recently though that made me wonder if something has been lost. For the last year or two I have noticed "quality" changes in places I wasn't expecting them. High class square white plates at Nick's, Bulwinkle's closing, and Uncle Elizabeth's moving out of their trailer, etc. etc. Little bits and pieces of "grunge" were being scrubbed clean all over Bloomington. I have had a niggling sense of discomfort with many of these changes. Something about sitting in a pub with dirty pictures of Bob Knight on the wall, and eating a burger with carefully plated fries on a contemporary chef's plate felt very wrong.

I couldn't quite put my finger on what was bothering me about these changes in Bloomington until two things happened. Once Kilroy's on Kirkwood remodeled. My friends and I go there for lunch every Tuesday for $2 cheeseburger day. Before they remodeled the burgers were awful. I mean really terrible greasy obviously pre-frozen patties, and we loved them. Food isn't just about being gourmet. Food is about a social experience and on some level it was really nice to go sit down and eat something and revel in how much you really shouldn't necessarily enjoy it. A little junk every now and then is surprisingly good for the soul. I allow myself so little that a trashy local cheeseburger once a week seemed a healthy portioned amount. When we walked back into Kilroy's after the renovation happened it felt terribly awkward. The restaurant was filled with stools out of a Target contemporary collection. The servers were all still wearing their frat shirts, and the culture of the employees had obviously not changed. Everyone seemed a bit disoriented by the changes. The food was definitely improved, and still had that pub grub flair, but it came on much nicer plates, and everything felt like it was trying desperately to be upscale, but no one there knew how to be upscale.

A few weeks after Kilroy's remodel my partners and I went to San Francisco for a week on vacation. We crashed in a friend's guest room and spent the week tooling around night clubs, and making a point of never going to the same restaurant twice. The food was amazing, and the experience was uplifting. Two restaurants stand out in my mind as being leagues above the rest. They were both in a Latin neighborhood maybe 7 blocks east of our friend's house. (San Francisco the land of micro climates, for weather and culture). This neighborhood was off the tourist trap trail, and it was obvious. The first place we hit there was a taco and burrito restaurant our friend was fond of. We walked the 15 some block to get there, got in line and ordered our food. The place was kind of dark, everyone was exceptionally abrupt, because let me tell you they had a line to get through. Nothing felt dirty really, but there was no attempt to maintain any kind of fake aesthetic clean either. The tables were worn, the kitchen, which you could see all of had a thick layer of age lining the walls. It was a layer that only great greasy spoons can develop. After navigating a posted menu that really required just a little bit of Spanish to really get through we placed our orders and waited outside for our food to be ready. We drank home made horchata out of generic soft drink cups and I awoke to whole new understanding of rice and cinnamon as a result. When I bit into my burrito it oozed seasoned grease. The kind of thick yellow red grease that can only come from authentic Mexican kitchens. Normally such a display would turn my stomach, but I didn't notice till the bite of burrito was in my mouth and by then it was all over. I was a convert, and the evidence dripping down my hand of the coronary I was going to suffer because of this meal couldn't even begin to dissuade me from finishing what I had started. I was in heaven.

The second dive we hit there was a breakfast diner we stopped at on our last full day in San Francisco. There was nothing descript about the ambiance. It could have been taken out of a Normal Rockwell painting if not for the complete lack of midwest, middle aged white men. The menu was what you would expect from any diner, eggs, omelets, pancakes, french toast, coffee. Here and there something stood out. There were two obvious things that stood out. One you could buy plantains, fried as a side dish. Second there was no fake attempt at a Mexican breakfast omelet, that you so obligatorily find in every standard American breakfast joint. My husband loves them, so I have stolen bites from plenty of these dishes. They're tasty, but are about as authentic as a Taco Bell Gordita. This little diner had the best basic cup of coffee I drank the whole weekend. The plantains were a religious experience, and the eggs were so fresh, so wonderful that I wish I could send the cooks from the brunch joints around here to study with the cooks in that little greasy spoon in San Francisco.

Neither of these restaurants attempted to be anything other than a reasonable comfortable place to come and consume food. They weren't overtly concerned with their appearance, just the quality of their food. Nothing was carefully plated, though everything was clean. The real difference was the food didn't feel "intentional". When a chef, or even a fine cook makes a meal there are details to be considered, flavors to be carefully balanced, plating to be carefully arranged. It is an art, a dance, a performance. When a grandmother makes food, it is hearty, and rich. It isn't so much an art as a warm embrace.

Bloomington is rapidly loosing it's warm embraces, it's "awful" dives. Once upon a time you could go downtown to a little diner named Ladyman's, and get simple breakfast dishes that were incredibly made for very reasonable prices. They refused to take credit cards long after it was a requirement of all sit down establishments. They didn't make fancy omelets, they didn't have unexpected twists on flavors and textures. They had eggs and bacon, and toast. It could have been any roadside diner, except for the Kirkwood view. The food was amazing, and the service was matter of fact.

Once upon a time bar and grills in this town served casual food on casual plates, and if you really wanted to just get away from all pretension you had somewhere to go. There are still a couple spots that feel that way, a couple places that feel organic. Beer and pizza at Mother Bears, home made mazto ball soup and BBC when the season comes around. (Original only, the newer stores just feel too "decorated" for me). The seeds of soul are there, I just hope Bloomington turns around eventually as a city and stops associating "high class" with good everywhere.

This was a hippy town in the 70's. Hell it was a hippy town when I was in high school in the late 90's, so while the reference might be trite, I can't help it. To every thing a season and a time. A time to sow and a time to reap. There is a time to go out in a tux or a dress and have a dinner of elegance and adventure, a time to go on a first date at a trendy coffee shop with quiet secluded corners, and a time to go out drinking with your friends at that place where the beer is always cold, and the drunk food is always delicious, but everyone knows the sturdiness of the furniture is more important than how well it matches because god knows what's going to happen if we loose the game, or heaven help us if we win it. There is a time to grab that greasy burrito to go, and a time to walk into the diner you're parents have been taking you to since you were 7 and have the waitress look at your dreaded blue hair with the same sort of loving disdain your mother does as she takes your order. There is also a time for upscale eateries, with fancy named dishes that bear no resemblance to their namesakes. Bloomington is a cleaner town today than it was a decade ago, and a much cleaner town than it was two decades ago. This has brought in new opportunities, and possibilities for everyone. Some day though, I'd like to come back to Bloomington and see a little bit more of her roots showing. When you meet that perfectly manicured pretty boy in the bar you know he's going to be high maintenance, no matter how perfect he looks. I'm a moppy headed hipster who never really knew he was pretty in the first place kind of guy. I guess that's what I look for in a town and it's food as well.

Finch's Brasserie

Finch's Brasserie is a small elegant restaurant on the east side of Kirkwood Ave basking in the view of IU's sample gates. It was established in 2008 by Jeff Finch and his wife. The space is warm and inviting, and includes a gallery space upstairs.

As soon as you walk in the door you immediately realize that you are in an upscale establishment. The casual familiar fare so common to Kirkwood is not what you will find here. The lunch menu has wood fire oven pizzas ($9-$10.25), Rabbit Cacciatore ($10), and Pan Seared Sea Scallops ($12.50). The dinner menu highlights include everything from a Duck Wing Appetizer ($7) to Wood Roasted Half Amish Chicken ($24). The prices and ambiance are obviously designed for an upscale eating experience, while allowing for more modest choices.

I recently went to Finch's for my husband's going away lunch thrown by his boss. He has moved on to the exciting world of professional massage therapy, so the occasion was slightly bittersweet for his previous co-workers, but ultimately celebratory about this new accomplishment in his life.

When I walked into the main dining room I was impressed by the clean consistent decor. Several restaurants that try to be upscale end up creating an ambiance that is entirely too cluttered and concerned with impressing. There is a large wood oven and a little bit of exposed kitchen environment, which I personally think is a must in any gourmet eatery. People who care about their food enough to pay a premium price for it are tantalized by the sights and sounds of a working kitchen. Of course the real chaos happens behind closed doors, but the bit of open counter space provides just the right amount of tease.

The Maître d' was prompt and friendly and we were shown to our reservation with no wait whatsoever. Our waitress arrived shortly and took our drink orders. Unfortunately when she returned with our drinks she did not take our meal orders, and a substantial amount of time passed before someone finally flagged her down so we could put in our orders. This is a minor service point normally, but it is something of a pet peeve for me as I have waited tables and understand not only the stresses of a full dining room, but how to minimize those stresses. We were there for lunch, and when situated in the middle of the de facto business district that is everything in walking distance of university administrative buildings it is not only safe, but necessary to assume your patrons have no more than an hour for lunch. If when you check they indicate no urgency you can adjust your approach, but it always frustrates me when I have to flag a waitress to place my order on a lunch hour. Our waitress could have easily taken our orders when she brought our drinks to avoid loosing track of our table in her other duties, but in what I can only assume was an attempt to not seem intrusive given our lively conversation did not.

Thankfully once our orders were placed the wait on our food was very modest, and the quality was quite fantastic. I ordered the Rabbit Cacciatore. It was a modest portion of luscious papperdelle pasta smothered in a exceptionally well balanced cream tomato sauce. There were small wood roasted mushrooms that packed a great deal of flavor. The balance of sauce to noodle was just right, and the flavor of the ingredients was carefully crafted. The menu listed bacon as one of the ingredients, though for the life of me I wasn't aware of its presence, but I did not really mind as I felt the flavors that were present melded quite beautifully.

My one and only reservation about this dish was the lack of a real rabbit presence. There were a couple small pieces of rabbit buried deep in the dish under layers of tomato and cream. The mushrooms were ultimately more memorable than the meat. Cacciatore means hunter in Italian, and the traditional star of this dish is the meat itself. The uniquely gamey flavor of rabbit was completely missing from the dish because the tomato sauce was such a dominant (if excellent) player.

I am a huge proponent of playing with our conceptions of food. Taking a dish that has a strong traditional history and changing the expected. It is the backbone of new experience, which is a requirement for true enjoyment of food. While we may return to comfort food when we are tired, and lonely, and sad it is excitement and exploration that fuels true gastronomical experience. That said I am also of the opinion that the soul of a dish must be maintained. Change flavors, and cooking technique. A dessert risotto for example must still balance moisture and al dente rice, even if you experience it entirely unlike a savory risotto. Similarly cacciatore must be about the meat. It must be the Italian hunter preparing his catch on his long trek home, even if you play with the flavors of tomato and cream. The dish at Finch's was aromatic, and flavorful, and carefully balanced. Sadly it invoked more memories of Vodka alla Pasta than of the game that the dish was born from.

I tried some of the other fare on the table and it was without exception quite excellent. The highlight of my stolen food escapades were the french fries and truffle aiole that came with my husband's burger. The fries were dark and crisp in a way I have never seen at a restaurant before. The aiole was a delicate and affordable way to bring a decadent expensive flavor into an impressively approachable food. I would have preferred some meaningful garlic experience during its consumption, but I have harped on my issues with the spirit of foods enough already and the quality was exceptional.

Ultimately my experience at Finch's was excellent. The quality of the ingredients was unquestionable, and the technical skill of the chef was without a doubt among the best in Bloomington. The service was friendly, but unfortunately not as attentive as I would have liked, and the ambiance was warm and pleasant, while being polished enough to allow for a truly fine dining experience. The prices are reasonable for the experience and quality of food, but it is important to be aware of what you are purchasing. I heartily recommend this restaurant to anyone looking for something a little different, and a little more elegant than they have found elsewhere in Bloomington, but I would also recommend a leisurely dinner experience as opposed to trying to fit Finch's into your lunch hour.

Ambiance: 4.5 of 5
Service: 3.5 of 5
Food Quality: 4.5 of 5
Flavor Quality: 4 of 5
Cost/Value: 4 of 5